


Moonlight - Dance

by QueenMegaera



Series: A Game of Association [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: (duh), Dancing, Fluff, Italy, M/M, Mission Fic, Pre-Slash, unabashed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMegaera/pseuds/QueenMegaera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the missions didn't end with dead bodies and burning buildings. Sometimes they ended in a simple order to stand down and report to London tomorrow. If Bond was lucky, that order would come when he was somewhere nice and warm, with drinks, music and pleasant company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight - Dance

Small, round coloured lanterns, green, pink and yellow, hung on a string around the backyard, but the lights were not strong enough to steal the show from the canopy of stars and the bright, round moon that hung above. A cool wind came in from the sea, carrying with it the smell of salt and seaweed and the sound of waves rushing to their death, but the air still held the lingering warmth of a long, sunny day. Bond stood by the garden wall and nursed a drink underneath the lanterns as dancing couples began to fill up the yard, swirling lazily over the cobbled stones to the sound of the three man band who were playing smooth classics from the likes of Frank Sinatra, Sam Cooke, and Mama Cass. His mark was among the dancers, moving expertly in the arms of her young companion and looking like she wasn't about to leave any time soon. She was clearly enjoying herself, but seemed more interested in staying on the dance floor than getting a room. Bond had been watching her for a few days now, and knew her as a woman of enough wisdom and self-control to postpone one pleasure for another if it meant she could have both. Settling down for a long uneventful evening, then, Bond pulled out his earpiece for a while, watched the amber liquid in his glass reflect the light of the lanterns, and enjoyed the feeling of having been transported back in time.

No more than an hour had passed when Bond saw Q in the doorway to the villa. Bond, who had been dancing with a particularly attractive local woman in a low cut black dress, excused himself with a kiss on her cheek that made her giggle, and walked back to his drink on the table. He kept an eye on Q the whole way. Q was not supposed to be here. He was meant to be in central Rome, in the offices of the Italian secret service, helping them or keeping an eye on them depending on who you asked. Yet here he stood in Fregene, outlined by the light from the room behind him, searching the crowd. Eventually his eyes fell on Bond and he began to move across the yard. He was wearing a black suit; tie loosened and top button unbuttoned as if he had been at the party for hours like everyone else. _Clever boy_ , Bond's mind supplied. As he watched Q weave between the dancing couples with deft evasive movements, turning his hips and shoulders this way and that to avoid moving feet and jutting elbows, Bond's gleeful and indiscriminate libido added: _and gorgeous, too_.

"Hello," he said when Q had finally made his way over. "Who are you then?"

Bond took a sip of his most recent drink. Q didn't appear to be amused.

"No one is listening, Bond," he said coolly. "Not even you, it seems. Why do you insist on not using the equipment you've been given?"

"That's simply not true," Bond said with a sly smile, "I use my equipment all the time."

Q refused to rise to the bait. How disappointing. Bond watched green lanterns reflect in Q's eyes as the Quartermaster initiated a probably quite justified tirade.

"Well, I finished decoding the information our Italian friends found, and I meant to tell you over the comm, but since you'd turned it off I had to find you. Do you know how people drive on these roads? I thought I was going to die before ..."

James put down his drink again and took a step forward.

"Why yes, I would like to dance," he said and held out his arms. The non sequitur silenced Q. He looked at Bond in obvious bewilderment.

"Pardon?"

Bond took a step closer and put his right hand lightly on Q's waist. Q gave the offending limb a glare.

"No one might be listening," Bond said, still holding his left hand out for Q to take, "but plenty of people are watching. A young man they don't recognize just rushed in and started talking to a man they've only known for a few days. If he bursts out again as soon as he's imparted his message, they might get suspicious of both those men."

"I'm not ... " Q stuttered, "I won't ... I mean, I don't dance."

James felt his smile grow into a grin.

"Then I'll lead."

Without wasting more time waiting for Q to react, Bond moved his hand from Q's waist to the small of his back and guided him out onto the impromptu dance floor in the square of lanterns.

"Won't _this_ look suspicious?" Q whispered. His body was stiff as a plank in Bond's arms, and his feet struggled to follow Bond's. "Aren't these people Catholic?"

"Nominally," Bond agreed. "But they're not exactly monks and nuns, and I overheard the hostess talking about her daughter's girlfriend earlier, so I don't think anyone will risk protesting too loudly in front of her."

Q swallowed and stumbled slightly as Bond spun them around.

"I'll have to take your word for it," he mumbled. His grip on James' shoulder relented a bit, so that it no longer felt as if he was hanging on for dear life. With his other hand, he flexed his fingers. They were cold and dry against the back of Bond's hand.

Bond smiled. He thought there was a slight blush on Q's cheeks, but it might have been a trick of one of the pink lanterns. Q's eyes were big and dark and focused on Bond. As Bond had become accustomed to by now, they gave nothing away. From the other side of the yard, the singer crooned an Italian version of "They Can't Take That Away from Me".

"So, what was so important it couldn't wait?" Bond asked.

"What? Oh. It seems your gut instinct was correct. Compagnoni is involved with some fairly shady characters, but she has never been in contact with Bantin. It was a false lead. His Italian contact is someone else. Compagnoni is the Italian police force's responsibility. We've been told to back off."

While he talked, Q's feet settled into the rhythm of the song, and Bond could lead him effortlessly over the dance floor. He wouldn't call Q a natural, but he followed well when he relaxed. The moon shone down on Q's dark curls and painted them in shades of black and blue. Bond could feel the younger man's pulse in their interlocked hands, steady and sure. Their bodies brushed against each other with every step. Another dancer bumped into Q and sent him stumbling into Bond. Bond felt his breath across his face.

"You came all the way here to tell me we're off duty?" James asked. This time he was almost certain Q's blush was real.

"Any action from you after it was made official that Compagnoni is outside our jurisdiction could have caused a minor diplomatic incident," Q pointed out, his voice dry and sharp like champagne. Bond wondered if his mouth tasted that way, too.

"Fair enough," he replied.

They danced a few more steps in silence, until the band finished the song and Q cleared his throat.

"Well, we should probably leave now."

Bond feigned flattered surprise.

"Already? You surprise me, Quartermaster. I thought I would at least have to buy you a few drinks first."

Q's glare lacked a bit of edge when it was fired from such short range.

The band started playing "Dream a Little Dream of Me". This time the singer chose the English lyrics:

 _Stars shining bright above you_  
Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'   
Birds singing in the sycamore tree  
Dream a little dream of me

Q was still standing in Bond's arms, and it seemed a shame to let him go.

"One more dance?" Bond asked, and took a few steps to emphasise the question. Q looked like he was about to protest out of sheer confusion, so James hurried to add: "we are off duty, after all, aren't we? And it would be a crime to leave such a splendid party so soon. Especially now when we can enjoy it without worrying about work."

"We still have to find Bantin's actual connection in Rome," Q pointed out.

"Tonight?" James asked and pulled Q a little closer so that they were chest to chest. Their noses brushed.

"No," Q said. His voice was barely louder than a breath, but it remained steady.

  _Stars fading but I linger on, dear_  
Still craving your kiss  
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear ...

Bond lost track of how long they danced, but the sky was slowly brightening as they walked away from the party. Only a few stars were still keeping the fading moon company. Bond wondered if he could get them all the way to his hotel before Q asked for a taxi into the city. Q was tired and tipsy and not quite capable of walking in a straight line, so Bond had wrapped as arm around his waist to keep him from stumbling into the street. Q had yet to object. Instead he was leaning into it, and his body was a warm, solid and very welcome presence against Bond's side as the sun slowly rose over the Italian coast.

**Author's Note:**

> I used Google Maps to find a suitable coastal town outside Rome. I've never been in Fregene and I don't know if there are Italian lyrics to "They Can't Take That Away from Me". I have, however, witnessed how people drive on the motorways around Rome. I consider it a near death experience. No offence meant, Italians, I feel the same in all continental countries. Fairly certain UK would be the same to, if the traffic there wasn't constantly in varying stages of gridlock.
> 
> Comments are love!


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